Until Midnight
by Quen-celebrin
Summary: A fanfiction of the song  and PV for  Cendrillon. Miku has to decide whether to trust the masked stranger who gave her the knife, and whether Prince Kaito really deserves to die. But there may be a surprise in store when the stranger removes her mask...


_As soon as I step into the ballroom, I am aware of two things: a heavy white scent of magnolias, and the ticking of the clock like a mechanized heartbeat. The guests blur into a montage of bright color and sound, and I am left with those two things—the scent and the heartbeat of the prince's palace. _

_My head turns unconsciously, unwillingly, toward the stairway. And there I see him—the prince. His blue hair shimmers softly in the light of the chandeliers, and his blue eyes sparkle with laughter at a joke that I could not hear. In a way, it is his scent that hangs in the air, his heart that resonates in my ears, counting the seconds until midnight._

_My knees tremble and weaken as his eyes meet mine. The sparkle and the joke vanish, replaced by a glowing solemnity that burns into the remains of my heart. It takes all of my strength to stay where I am as he approaches me; I am shaken by a sudden urge to run, to fly, to get as far away as I can as fast as I can. Not a hind's urge to flee a wolf—a she-wolf's twisted desire to save the stag. _

_But as I glance around the room, I see her—him—I do not know and I do not care. A smile widens beneath the stranger's mask—not encouragement, a threat. A reminder. My right hand reaches back instinctively to the sheath concealed within my sash, grasps at the cold silver of the knife's hilt. I feel the pattern on the hilt engrave itself into my hand—silver wings beating beneath a cold silver heart._

_He is here. The beating of the clock—the ticking of his heart—or perhaps it is both—pulses in the space between us. Up close, the scent of magnolias turns out to mask a different scent: velvet and cinnamon and something indescribable except that it is utterly masculine. My ears ache with the sweetness of his voice. _

_And somehow, without knowing how it has happened, we are dancing. I am held fast within the prison of his arms, and somehow the ticking of the clock has become my heartbeat, too. I cannot hear the music—I am deaf to everything but our shared heartbeat—and I cannot see anything but his eyes. I am falling into his eyes, falling into a deep pool and a summer sky, into endless yards of blue silk and endless piles of blue sapphires, into a fire burning too hot to be golden._

_We spin and sway and turn. We are flying and swimming and running together. We are the notes of a song and the colors of a painting and the rays of the sun. I am breathing his breath, melting into his arms, drowning in the sweet scent of him. We are dancing. The clock beats on, our only enemy. Half an hour left—one thousand and eight hundred beats of our hearts until it is over._

_My hand slips back again, the metal hilt growing warm as it saps the heat from my trembling fingers. I feel a sudden heat on my cheeks—not a blush, but the warmth of hot tears. I taste salt as tears fall into my mouth—a reminder that this moment is not sweet at all._

_Then suddenly his face is close to mine, too close and not close enough. I feel his lips, soft, gentle as he kisses away my tears. Now even the glow is gone from his eyes. He knows something is more wrong than he can understand. More wrong than I can understand. And still I cry, and still we dance._

_Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds until the end. My arms slip around his neck, easily, naturally—so naturally that he does not notice the dagger in my right hand. We have danced out onto a balcony, alone. No one is here. No one will see—no one but the stranger in the silver mask. The smile below the mask is filled with greed, with anticipation. My tears have stopped now—what justice can salt water do to my agony—what help in avoiding what must be?_

_And the last ten minutes have run out, dancing away from me and leaving me alone with the prince in my arms and the knife in my hand. The clock begins to strike, clashing against the cold walls of my stone heart. His eyes do not shine anymore—they are dull, enchanted. The only light is moonlight reflected on my blade, a silver halo that makes me shine in the darkness._

_The clock strikes for a twelfth time, and I thrust the dagger deep into his heart. And for a moment—one fleeting moment—the spark returns to his eyes. He laughs at the joke that is his life and death. And as the lifeblood flows from him to stain both our clothes, I look to the masked stranger for approval._

_She lifts the mask away from her face, and I am left staring at myself. She gives me one last mocking smile and disappears. I turn to the prince, but his last moments have come and gone. I pull the blade from his corpse, transfixed by the blood that dulls its shining surface. And then at last I understand him._

_I laugh._


End file.
